Return to Light
by LadyMongoose
Summary: Schuldig does something evil. Bad things happen. A study of the macabre, courtesy of my twisted brain. Very dark. **YAOI**


Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and I am making no money doing this. The proper owners of Weiß Kreuz and all its characters are Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiß. I have not altered or harmed them in any permanent fashion. 

Notes: I wrote this a while ago, and posted it to several lists, but seeing as I've just made up my mind to join FanFiction.Net, I'm going to put it here too. If you haven't read it, enjoy! 

More notes: The storyline is mostly credited to Robin, though many of the details and particulars are mine. She was my editor who demanded that certain parts weren't yucky enough, so blame her if you get grossed out later on. I think the original idea was supposedly inspired by the movie 'Cleopatra' but I've never seen it, and neither has Robin all the way through, so I don't know. It's a wierd fic. 

Warnings: angst, shounen ai, dark dark dark, DEATH - NOT for the young or faint of heart.   
  


Return to Light   
by LaMangust 

The morning sun was blinding, but Youji didn't really mind, burying his head deeper in the cleft between two pillows and drawing the recumbent body beside him closer to block what light still assailed his eyes. It was a comfortable warmth that surrounded him, and he didn't want to move for anything in the world. The night's events brought a lazy, sensuous smile to his lips, which wasted itself on the bedding for lack of anyone else to observe it. Aya loved that smile. 

Aya. Youji's tenacious lover had never yielded so easily to him as he had the previous night, and Youji couldn't help but love him the more for it. A trust had grown between them, finally, that allowed them freedom to distance what they felt for each other from the reality of their everyday world and keep it safe and whole. What had begun as a tentative venture into understanding one another and taking comfort erupted at last into full-fledged paradise. It kept them sane. Youji had never been happier in his life. 

As through a haze, Youji heard the sounds of movement in the rooms below them, signs of the Koneko coming to life. Loath to move, but wanting to spare Aya Ken's inevitable pounding on the door, Youji heaved himself up and into the full light of morning, blinking owlishly. The door had never seemed farther away. 

"See how much I care about you?" he muttered at Aya's sleeping form. "I even get up early so you can sleep in. Not even Asuka ever pulled that off." In truth, the trust that Aya displayed in actually being able to sleep easy in his presence was something he cherished, and it made those warm feelings rise in him that he had always associated with bad chick flicks. Ah, well. Such was the price of love. One didn't quite mind being ridiculous. 

Treading heavily down the hall to alert Ken, the ever vigilant, that he was awake and that there was no need to be pounding on doors, Youji entered the bathroom and started the shower going. Looking critically at his somewhat disheveled face in the mirror, the tall part-time assassin grabbed a hairbrush and set to work untangling the jumble that sleep and Aya had made of his mane. 

It was a mean job. Just as he was beginning to curse angrily at the mess, one long lock fell across his face, filling his nose with its scent. He paused. It smelled of heaven. It smelled of Aya. For a long moment, Youji merely stood, holding his hair to his face like a mask, breathing in that scent. Then he laughed. "Why bother with this when I've got the real thing not twenty meters away!" He chuckled again before stepping into the small shower cubicle. He traced his finger along the steamed translucent plastic, drawing shapes in the fog. It was going to be a good day today. He was convinced.   
  


"Ohayou, Youji-kun!" Omi smiled brightly at the older assassin as he entered the kitchen and made a beeline for the coffee pot. Youji took one look at Omi's grinning face and decided he preferred the morning sun. It hurt his eyes less. 

"Ohayou, Omi, Ken." 

Ken looked up from a file open on the round table and greeted Youji. He looked less shiny and more tolerable than Omi early in the morning, so Youji fixed his gaze there, downing his coffee. 

"What's that?" Youji pointed at the open file. 

Ken slapped the folder shut. "Nothing big. Just some surveillance Kritiker wants done. Omi can handle it." 

"Manx was here already?! What time is it??" 

"6.35." 

"Geez, does that woman ever sleep?" Youji couldn't believe that people could be up and out already. It was inhuman. Sighing at the injustice of the world and people who could actually be useful at 6.00, Youji poured himself more coffee. "When're you leaving, Omi?" 

"Now," the small blonde replied, pushing himself up from the table. "If I finish early enough, I can maybe actually go to school today." 

Ken laughed at him. "You want to go to school?" 

"Well, there are only so many days I can miss before I get kicked out. I don't really intend to spend the rest of my life doing this kind of work." He breezed out of the room, headed for the stairs down to the Koneko and out. 

For a moment, there was silence. Ken reopened the folder and Youji drank his coffee. 

"What about you?" 

"What?" Ken looked up again. 

"Do you intend to spend the rest of your life doing this kind of work?" 

Ken's eyes lowered. "I never really thought about it. It just sort of happened this way. I wouldn't know how to go about doing anything else." 

Youji nodded. "I understand completely. I've been in the assassin business so long, I don't know what it would be like to emerge into the light again, or even if the light would want me." 

"What is it with you and philosophical discussions early in the morning?" The question was light. 

"I think that the period between second and third cups of coffee is the only time of day that my libido is sufficiently subdued to allow the rest of my brain to take over for a moment. Why, does it bother you?" 

Ken laughed. "Not at all. It's pure you, Youji." 

A grin was the only response. 

"Speaking of libido, how are things?" Ken grinned wide, knowing that he had aimed straight at Youji's weak spot. 

"Things?" came the equally ambiguous half-reply. 

"With Aya." 

Youji studied the mug in his hands intently, willing for the third time in his life to talk to someone openly. It had been Ken both other times. "Honestly, I think it's perfect." 

"Perfect." 

"Yeah. So good that nothing bad can happen. Nothing can destroy what's formed because it's too right and too solid. Does that make sense?" 

"Perfectly." The smile Ken offered was warm and full of friendship. "I hope I'll be able to tell you the same someday." 

"Oh, you will, Kenken. Don't worry. Things this good should happen to people like you." 

"Want some breakfast?" 

"I'll wait for Aya."   
  


Late afternoon painted the walls of the Koneko, polishing every flower, plant, and person within with an autumn-hued luster that glowed radiantly, transforming the small shop into the semblance of Midas' storeroom. The afternoon crowds had dispersed slowly but surely, and it was finally time to close. 

Ken ducked out the door just as Youji pulled down the metal door, soccer bag slung over his shoulder and a ball bounding in front of him. "Be back in a few hours!" he called cheerily behind him. Youji nodded and waved. He had to remember to leave the back door unlocked for Ken's return. Last time he had forgotten, both Ken and Omi had scolded him. Quite a show that had been. Yes, he would remember. 

"Open the back for Ken. Open the back for Ken. Open the back for Ken…" The mantra continued.   
  


*dingdingding* 

"The doorbell!!" Omi looked up at Youji. "You forgot to open it again, didn't you?" 

Youji raised his hands defensively. "Hey!! I opened the door. It must be someone else." He stood quickly, planning to get to the shop front before the other two and punch Ken one square in the nose for being an idiot and not going to the back door. 

*dingdingding* 

The bell sounded again, bringing forth a stream of cursing from Youji. "I'm coming!!" he shouted at the door, scowling at the silhouette of a shadow he distinguished between the slats of the metal outer door. 

Still grumbling, the tall man snagged a key chain from behind a flower pot and bent to undo the series of locks that were perhaps more than an average flower shop required. A gust of cool night air flowed in under the metal as he pulled it up, carrying with it a strange scent that teased Youji's senses with its familiarity. 

::That's strange:: The door flew upward, and Youji readied his fist to at least scare Ken for a second, if not flat out hit him, but he stopped. Slowly, Youji turned his head to the right, then to the left. There was no one there. 

"Then who…" The smell caught his nose again, stronger this time, drawing his attention downward. Youji's eyes lighted on the small stoop. 

Now he realized why he had recognized the smell. An uncontrollable bout of retching overcame the seasoned assassin at the macabre sight before him, making bile rise in his throat, burning, stinging, like the white-hot tears in his eyes. Thanking every god he could name that he hadn't eaten yet, Youji stumbled two steps backward and collapsed onto the hard tiled floor of the hanaya, bringing a hand up and over his mouth in an unconscious gesture to contain his body's reaction to the terrible scene. 

He recognized the red and white coloring of the cloth immediately, from the numerous times he had helped at Ken's soccer games. It was the team uniform, though the white pattern was hard to distinguish with the amount of blood that covered the small form. There was no doubt that the child was dead. Dead was almost an understatement. He lay facedown on the hard concrete in an ever-spreading pool of blood. 

Youji swallowed hard and got back to his feet. He'd had enough experience with corpses to recover quickly. It was the implications of this small delivery more than anything that had him scared out of his wits. Gingerly, Youji pushed the child over, hoping to find some clue to who would have murdered him. He was promptly in the street retching again when he caught sight of the mangled face, far beyond recognition. 

The nose was completely gone, looking as if it had been ripped forcefully from the ragged tatters of skin and crimson flesh left dangling behind. A long gash ran down the side of the small face, slashing through one eyelid and straight down to the jaw. The other eye was not even there anymore. Upon close inspection, which Youji performed, though he was loath, a small rolled paper, stained deep red, was lodged where the boy's eye had been. 

Carefully, Youji extracted the paper, trying not to disturb the mangled features any more, but small pieces of flesh still ripped and clung to the small sheet. Opening it with trembling fingers, he read: 

_Weiss—_

_I hope you enjoyed my little gift. A great deal of deliberation went into the choosing of the messenger, and the lad was just so eager for the job. Too bad he didn't choose a career in which he could advance more easily._

_I have your companion, Hidaka, and I dare say he's not going to last much longer if he keeps putting up a fight. If you want him back, which I'm sure you do, you will bring the ransom I have in mind to the roof of the Sunrise building at midnight tomorrow. Yes, it all sounds very cliché and typical, doesn't it? In that case, you should have no problem meeting my demand._

_What I want is simple. Obtaining it is not. In exchange for the life of Hidaka Ken, I want the head of Fujimiya Ran. I want only his head, delivered into my hands in a bowling bag tomorrow at midnight. If you do not comply, Hidaka dies. Plain and simple. It's not that bad, is it? One teammate in exchange for another? I know Hidaka is certainly more amenable than Fujimiya._

_Just let me warn you, Weiss, that any attempt to rescue him will be useless. I can read your minds. If you so much as set foot within 200 meters of his prison, he dies. Good luck, white hunters. I'll be waiting for you._

_ -- Schuldich_

The paper crushed in Youji's bloodstained hands, ripping as his grip tightened. It was impossible. But it was happening. For a long, long moment, Youji simply stared at the corpse on their doorstep, as if it would regain its life and give him the solution to this problem. He couldn't tell Omi. He couldn't tell Aya. They would try to rescue Ken by force, and end up getting them all killed. 

The best thing to do was to dispose of the boy's body, then think about some way to resolve this problem without involving either his lover or Omi. There had to be a solution. There simply had to be.   
  


"Ken-ku… Where's Ken?" Omi looked at Youji suspiciously as if he were hiding Ken behind his back. The taller assassin smiled easily at him. 

"He went out again. Something about a date with the older sister of one of the boys on his team. He should be back before morning." Youji's grin turned mischievous. "That is, depending on how much he likes this girl." 

::Liar liar liar:: 

Omi blushed. "That's strange. He hasn't said anything about this." 

"Well, I think it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. That's Ken for ya." 

"It's not wise for him to be making plans suddenly like that, when an emergency could come up." Aya put in, frowning. 

::Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea:: Youji managed to keep his grin up. "Hey, it's not like anything urgent's going to pop up in the next few hours. And even if it does, we can take care of it, ne, Omi?" 

Omi merely nodded, engrossed in whatever it was that was flashing across his computer screen. He lost himself so often in that electronic world of sparks and signals that sometimes, Youji wondered if he really was a creature of the physical reality that Youji himself reveled in. Well, it didn't matter now. 

He headed for the stairs, followed by Aya, who looked at him with that slightly less than normally impassive gaze that meant he expected nothing from Youji tonight. On some deep level, Youji was relieved. He didn't think he could be with Aya and keep such a dark secret from him. It was too wrong. 

As he watched Aya move silently around their bedroom, he had to wonder if he could ever really do such a horrible thing as that note demanded. 

"Aya?" 

"Hm?" came the answer from within the confines of a gray t-shirt being pulled over Aya's head. His head popped out the other end as Youji asked his question. 

"Is there anyone in this world you would die for?" Youji really didn't know where that had come from. It wasn't what he had been intending to ask, but it was out now, and irretrievable. 

He felt the gentle give of the mattress as Aya seated himself near him. "There are two." 

"Who are they?" 

"One is Aya-chan." 

::Of course:: 

"And the other," Aya pressed the palm of his hand to Youji's face, turning it so he could look straight at him, "is you." 

Youji sighed. "Arigatou, Aya." He leaned in quickly and laid a kiss on his lover's lips. "Ai shiteru." 

Aya nodded, a ghost of a smile touching his perpetually down turned lips. "Aa. Ore mo." Done with his rare display of affection, the orchid-eyed assassin pulled back the sheet and crawled beneath them, beckoning Youji to join him. Youji did, shucking his clothes and sliding into the cool comfort of the bed. 

::Why did you have to say that?:: Youji stared toward the ceiling above, drawing Aya's thin frame close beside him, burying his face in the unruly hair. He couldn't deal with this alone. It was too painful. Yet he couldn't tell Aya either. There was no way out. And who knew what was happening to Ken. 

Sleep seemed like the best option. Maybe the answer would come to him as he dreamed.   
  


It was cold when he awoke, and black as midnight. His senses revealed nothing, the stale taste in his mouth mirroring the last memory he had of a cloth drenched in sweet-smelling chloroform being slapped across his face. A nasty way to kidnap someone, for sure, but not as nasty as some he could think of. Who were these people? 

Ken curled up against the hard surface of the floor, trying to cover his head with his hands only to find that they were behind him. The head-splitting ache in his temples was getting worse with every breath and movement. 

Gasping slightly at the pain, the slender assassin forced himself up on knees and strained elbows to sit on his heels. The blackness swirled and spun slightly in his vision, mingling with the flashing shards of the headache. ::Where…?:: 

As though to answer his question, a thin beam of light split the thick blackness, widening gradually to reveal a truly fearsome silhouette, with short-cropped hair and long limbs. Ken recognized it, and panic gripped him. The face on this person was much more frightening than his silhouette, he knew. 

Squinting against the harsh light, Ken gathered his courage around him and prepared for whatever was coming next. A single golden eye stared down at him with no discernable emotion in it. Slowly, Farfarello grinned, and Ken had never been more frightened in his life. He watched wide-eyed as the impressive figure knelt before him, examining every angle of his face before reaching down and drawing a long, slim weapon from his boot. 

Eye narrowing, the insane Irishman moved the knife forward until the tip was just barely touching the bridge of his captive's nose. "What a pretty thing y'are. Schu's said I can have my fun with you. What do you say to that?" 

Ken swallowed. "What the hell do you want?" 

Farfarello looked pleased. Maybe it was the defiance. Maybe it was the fear. Probably both. "Well, now, that depends on what you're offering." 

"Then I'm offering nothing." Ken hoped it was that easy. This man was insane after all. Who knew how his thought processes worked. 

"Not that simple, boy. You're here, so everything is for the taking. We just have to figure out the best way to get pain from you. Suffering. That's what I'm after." 

Very carefully, Farfarello drew the knife in a downward line, following the slightly upturned curve of Ken's nose, slitting it open so that it puckered like pouting lips. Ken made no sound. Chuckling, Farfarello moved his knife too quickly for Ken's eyes to follow, laying two gashes open on either side of his face, dangerously close to his eyes. 

"Cry for me, pretty. It can get so much worse." His hand moved down and roughly grabbed Ken's balls, wringing a small shriek out of him, quickly swallowed again. "There now. Much better." 

Ken shook, eyes widened beyond what should have been their limits. Hopelessness was quickly building up, resignation to the sadistic demands of this crazy man. He snapped his eyes shut as the knife flew at his face. But it never landed. 

"What do you want?" Farfarello's voice was hard, challenging. 

"Schuldich never said you could kill him. Get out of here now." It was the kid, Nagi, with strange powers that allowed him to move objects with his mind. If he would just move Farfarello a few hundred miles away right now, ken would be eternally grateful. 

"What business is it of yours, brat? Schuldich said I could do with him as I wanted." 

"But not kill him. And he heard what you were doing and sent me to get you out. Leave. Now. He's Schuldich's prisoner, not yours, and even Crawford will back that claim." 

There was a short curse and a gust of movement, and Ken's attacker was gone. Sighing in relief, he quickly backed himself against the wall, catching sight of the boy's pale eye as the door slid to. "You'd better sleep, Weiss. You're in for one hell of a time."   
  


The sunlight was attacking again, and Youji couldn't help but seek refuge, burying himself down among the sheet and pillows and Aya on the bed. He was set to drift off to sleep again, lulled by the sound of soft breathing by his partner, when memories of events that now seemed to long ago bombarded him. 

Last night. The child. The note. The ransom. Whom he was sleeping next to. 

Youji wanted to curl up and die. That would be the easiest solution. Then the problem would be gone. Quietly, the lanky assassin slid out of the bed. For a moment, he just stood there, watching Aya sleep. It was quite a sight. What a choice had been handed him. On one hand, he had his world, his entire happiness, sleeping peacefully in this bed. On the other, his best friend, to whom most of that happiness was due. 

Either way, life would be lost. The only question was how deeply he wanted to be personally involved. Heading for the bathroom on bare feet, Youji listened to his determined stomp, and realized that there was no need this morning. Ken was not there. 

When the door to the bathroom was safely locked, and the water in the shower running to cover all sound, only then did Youji allow the tears that had been building since he found the dead child on their doorstep fall.   


"Youji?" The soft voice interrupted his thoughts. 

He looked up and smiled, but he knew he looked troubled, and Aya could see that. "Hai?" 

"Are you alright?" Youji almost wanted to laugh. Almost. Instead, he schooled his features into weariness and nothing more. 

"Fine. Just tired." 

Aya frowned. Youji knew the redheaded assassin was worried for him, but he didn't mind, because if Aya worried about such a minor thing, it meant he wasn't thinking about greater problems, unlike Youji. There had to be a decision. Soon. Time was running out. 

That afternoon, the rain came. It was swift and sudden, starting within moments of the clouds rolling in, beating hard on the pavement and buildings of Tokyo and making a constant drumming on the Koneko's great glass windows that reverberated throughout the entire building. 

Youji, for the first time in almost a year, took to his feet and walked in the rain. It was a habit of the past. When things were hardest, he had always turned to the rain for comfort, because there had been no one else. It made sense, therefore, that in this moment of confusion and indecision that he could share with none, especially those in whom he would usually confide, it was the rain that comforted him. 

Walking slowly, Youji made his way aimlessly along the narrow streets. Even if his mind didn't know where he was going, though, his feet did, and they carried him to the place his last voyage in the rain had ended. Ended because of a very unexpected intruder. It had been that time, almost a year ago, when Youji been ruining his relationship with the other members of their small assassin group because of his unwanted and unreturned, or so he thought, desire for Aya. 

Youji had said for a long time that he owed his happiness to Ken, and in a very real sense, that was true…   
  


**flashback** 

That day too, Youji's feet moved on their own down the byways and dirty alleys of Tokyo, seeking unconsciously one place where thoughts could be sorted out in peace. It was found in the form of a small park almost a kilometer from the Koneko, where the broken down swing sets with uneven chains and a chipped and rusted old slide still attracted local children to share in too-brief moments of happiness. Not on a day like that one, though. That rainy Thursday, the park was abandoned, the swings left to hang lonely in the wind. 

Seating himself on a dilapidated bench, Youji pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. After several failed attempts with the lighter versus the rain and the wind, he gave up and merely sat, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips as he stared out across the meager expanse of grass before him. Thoughts seemed to pound endlessly against the inside of his head, making him lose threads as quickly as he grabbed them. Finally convinced that there was no solution, Youji gave up, and hung his head in his hands, trying not to let despair engulf him too badly. 

Wet splashing footsteps behind him were the first indicator that he was not alone. He didn't pay it any mind at first, thinking it a passerby or some other dejected soul like himself come to think alone in the rain. But the movement stopped directly behind him, and the person waited. Youji, suddenly wary, raised his head, searching quickly around him, one hand reaching automatically for the wire hidden at his wrist. When he caught sight of his "attacker," however, the sense of danger receded. 

"Ken, what are you doing here?" 

A somewhat crooked tilt of the lips and flash of teeth. "Did you need somebody to talk to?" 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"Well, you always go out when it's raining and you have a problem," Ken walked around the bench at sat as he spoke. "I thought there was someone you came to talk to. But you're alone here, and maybe you'd like someone to talk to. Whatever it is, I assure you, even if I can't help," Ken's eyes softened, disarming as a puppy's, "I can listen." 

Youji just looked at him for a moment, stunned by the generous words. Then he threw back his head and laughed. As he laughed, Ken broke into a smile, which only caused Youji to laugh harder. Then, as if he had been dropped suddenly, the laughter stopped, and the tears started. It was so embarrassing to cry. He hated crying. Especially in front of other people. But in the face of Ken's offer for support if not solutions, his barriers couldn't hold, and suddenly the rain was not enough. 

The entire story spilled out of him, moment by moment, the struggle Youji had working with the group when he wasn't even sure how he felt towards all of them. The uncertainty, the fear, and the knowledge that what he wanted was no ordinary conquest were all communicated that day, while the rain pounded their bodies with a fury to match that of his emotions. 

When he had finished, Ken was silent. For that small eternity, Youji was scared that his companion would stand and walk away, denounce him to the group and never speak to him again. But Ken simply sat. Then, in a quiet voice, as though of one deep in thought, he offered the simple, five word solution that Youji's mind had been avoiding all this time. 

"Why don't you tell him?" 

"He'll hate me." 

"You don't know that." 

"It's not worth the risk." 

"Why not? It's certainly not doing you any good as it is now." Youji felt himself pulled, though orientation was hard in the total grayness, and the next moment bright green eyes similar to his own were staring him down, deadly serious. "It can't hurt anything to try. And I don't think it would be a waste or a mistake." 

Youji's mind was slow in comprehending, but it ate through eventually. Ken was saying he had a chance. "Why do you say that?" 

"What? That I don't think it would be a waste? I've had my suspicions about Aya. Don't worry. And remember that whatever happens and whatever he says, I wouldn't think any less of you for it, so you don't have to worry about getting kicked out." 

That disarming smile again. Youji gave in. Pulling Ken to him in a crushing hug, he murmured, "Arigatou, Ken." 

"It's nothing, Yotan. Go get 'em." He winked at Youji, drawing forth another laugh. 

It was at that moment that Youji realized just what he had in this person. He realized what he had in Weiss. A safe haven had been opened for all of these problems that plagued him constantly, and possibly even solutions. It was welcome. The rain was never enough again.   
  


It was true, the rain was not enough to solve his problems. So Youji sat, on that bench where he and Ken had talked that day, and waited for his friend to walk out of the rain and ask if he needed someone to talk to. But he didn't. He couldn't. Youji felt like he was back in that café, waiting for Asuka, who would never come again. In that moment, he made a decision. Ken had never let him down, through the missions and all the shit they had gone through. It was only fair that Youji repay him in the same way. He couldn't leave Ken to Schwarz's power. He wouldn't abandon someone who had never abandoned him. 

Rescuing Ken was the mission. The only remaining problem, how to accomplish it.   
  


"Youji-kun, have you seen Ken-kun today?" 

Youji looked into Omi's honest, blue eyes and sighed internally, hating himself. "Yes, Omi, he left early this morning. He said he would be back before midnight." 

Omi's brow wrinkled. "Did he say where he was going? He was going to take me to the warehouse today to restock." 

"I'll take you." Youji managed a smile for the small assassin. He felt worse each time that fake smile appeared on his face, product of nothing more than his force of will. Lies were not his strong suit. 

"Yosh! I'll get mad at Ken-kun about forgetting later!" Omi bounded out of the shop towards their logo-adorned truck. 

::I hope so, Omi. I really hope so::   
  


The land was black, and flat, stretching boundless to the horizon, where it met the perfectly black sky. He stood, suspended it seemed, in that void, wondering idly why he could see his body in perfect relief though there didn't seem to be any source of illumination. The featureless landscape was blinding in its emptiness. Then, out of the nothing, a prism rose. It seemed as though it formed from the earth, taking shape as a drop does from water and rising to hover before him. It was many-faceted, shimmering in the darkness, though the thing itself had no color. 

Slowly, he reached a hand out to it, brushing it with his fingertips, and the double-pyramid shivered. He let his hand drop, and leaned closer, detecting a spot of color at its center, blood red. His breath distorted the surface, blurring the image inside. He reached out once more, as if to grasp the thing that had form but none. 

There was a rush of air, and a flash of red, and he gasped. As if the small crystal had shot out and swallowed him whole, the world was tinged red. The floor moved and swirled, with the rich dark color of blood. The walls oozed and bled. And somehow he remained suspended, instead of sinking and drowning in that terrible deep. Eyes roving wildly, he caught sight of something in the distance. It seemed close, but as he moved toward it, the point of darkness shrunk further. Desperation clutched at his heart, and be broke into a run, leaving a wake of rippling red puddles behind. 

The illusion, or was it reality, drew closer as he ran, and quite suddenly, as if he had surpassed some invisible barrier, he saw it, in full relief, an image from his nightmares. A ragged scream tore his throat, painful as though he had swallowed acid, and he fell to his knees, eyes riveted on the deadly relief before him. 

Three crosses, constructed of jagged metal, were lined up before him, each of which held one of the people most dear to him in the world. He didn't need to watch. He already knew the end. But it was inevitable, so he might as well play his part. Standing shakily, he tottered toward the first one, the one on the left, and stared upward at the bloodied figure there. "Omi." His voice hurt as though someone had been strangling him, the bruised feeling of tightness making it hard to breathe. "Omi, wake up." 

The small figure on the cross opened his eye. The other was gone, remaining as no more than a puckered oval of skin through which ran the bloody trail of a knife. Omi's feminine face was in ruins, a portion of the skin of his forehead hanging loosely from white bone. The rest of his pale body was covered in injuries, bruises and cuts that stretched outward to wrap his bound arms in a veil of blood, and a long slice down his belly where his liver was trying to escape. With a small sigh, Omi directed his fogged gaze downward, and half-smiled at his observer, before, with one last sobbing sigh, his life left him. 

He wept, kneeling again on the bloody floor of this room, nearly broken from the sight. He didn't want to move on. He didn't want to, but he did, pulling himself up by the rough edges of Omi's metal cross, appalled to see the small boy's blood on his hands. Stumbling, he lurched to the next in line, collapsing against the cold steel that gleamed darkly like the honed blade of a katana. It seemed like eternity before he could lift his eyes, gathering the strength to witness what hung there. 

The red of Aya's hair seemed to have stained his face, so bloody it was. Though he had not been disfigured like Omi, the tall assassin's suffering was obvious in the sharp rise and fall of his chest, and the myriad marks there. Whatever weapon had been taken to Aya, it had done its job, leaving his skin in tatters beyond repair. The dark wine-red of muscle showed as though through a screen. Along both arms, tight wire was bound, causing those appendages to turn a deep air-starved purple. 

Head hanging limply, Aya coughed roughly, spitting up blood onto his destroyed chest, and shuddered. "Aya." He didn't respond to the voice. "Aya, it's okay. You don't have to suffer any more." Slitted purple eyes stared at him, as if trying to judge his sincerity. Then, gracefully, as Aya did everything, the breath rattled from his lungs, and he died. 

Sobbing, but with a sense of having released his friend from something terrible, he moved stoically on hands and knees toward the final cross. It stood a little apart, it's occupant damaged almost beyond recognition. His face was a mass of cuts and scars, lips gone and blood running into the closed eyes from a long cut above the eyebrows. He hung crookedly, one arm out of its proper place and not holding him up. The other was bound by what looked like a weed, from which many small flowers sprung that seemed to be feeding off of what little life he had left. 

Collapsing at the base of the final cross, he looked up at the broken figure. "Oh, Youji, what have they done to you, my friend?" The sobs that ripped from his throat were uncontrollable. Curling up before the corpse of his best friend, he cried until he no longer could. His throat was tightening, and the room was rushing at him in swirls of crimson. It was closing in. 

Ken stood, turning his back on the dreadful scene to give himself the strength to run. Phantoms were materializing, the haunting faces of the ones he had killed. Many, many faces, each as they were after death, except with a hatred in their eyes that had probably never seen light in life. A hand grabbed his arm, and he spun to find Katse there, claw holes in his jacket, eyes fierce. 

"You killed me. How dare you!" 

"No!" Ken pulled himself free and ran again, back the way he had come, looking for an escape. Then she was there, running towards him, eyes shadowed by a wide hat. 

"Yuriko!" he was almost too glad to see her, the one joyful thing he had found in this wasteland of horrors, but as he ran toward her, his arms stretched before him, she turned away and ran. Ken shouted his confusion, picking up yet more speed to reach her. As he grabbed her waist, she went completely still, and he smiled. Then he felt something dripping from his hand. He let her go, and felt his hand stick, felt the familiar wet suction of his claws pulling themselves free of flesh. A scream. He screamed, looking at his hand… where a set of bugnuks stared him back in the face. 

"No!!" Horror and disbelief. "No no no no no no NOOOOO!!!!!" 

Screaming, Ken pressed himself against the wall of his prison, trying to put as much space between himself and his tormentor as he could. The dreams, he's had them all before. But never so vivid. Never had he been able to reach out and feel them. He could sense the blood on his hands. He could smell it. He opened his eyes and glared at his captor, who grinned back. 

"Are we having fun?" 

"Fuck you." 

"Hey, it's not like I made these things up." Schuldich walked forward to where Ken cowered and pushed against his injured nose with a forefinger. "You did." 

His raucous laughter as he left the room gave Ken chills, and he curled up in a miserable, lonely ball against the stone and shuddered.   
  


Youji's footsteps seemed ominous, even to himself, as he made his way down the short hallway of the Koneko apartments with as much determination as he could muster. It was a decision not made lightly, to kill one's lover and beloved, but Youji's mind was set now, and the only obstacle left was going through with it. By logic, he would give up many things for Ken, including the happiness that the younger man had been responsible for. And if Aya was that happiness, and Ken required Aya, so be it. 

He didn't think anything could hurt this much. It was a festering sword-stab straight into his heart, and he'd never felt anything worse in the world, even his guilt over Asuka. The long hours of thinking in the rain, coupled with the simple truth Aya had shared with him the other night, were enough to drive his determination. It had to be done, and Aya would understand. 

He didn't intend to give Aya time to think about it, though. Quick and painless as possible, that was the theory, and Youji would be strong throughout. Then, later, when there was time and occasion, he would cry over it. Now was not the time. 

The floorboards creaked slightly as he stood outside the bedroom he and Aya had shared for almost a year. A long time, and the happiest moments of his life, learning that Fujimiya Ran was a person indeed, and such a wonderful person. 

::Not the time,:: he reminded himself briskly. There was always time for reminiscences later. Pushing slightly on the door, he let it open slowly, revealing an inch at a time the warmly glowing haven within. The only light on was beside the bed, casting a soft yellow glow over everything, slightly discoloring Aya's pale skin. Aya himself was seated on the edge of the bed facing away from Youji, staring intently at something in his lap. 

"Youji." Aya's voice was soft, almost reverent, and he raised his head and smiled, a true, beautiful smile that was full of everything Youji loved about him. His would-be-murderer's heart melted. 

"Aa?" He couldn't help the smile that rose to his lips in response to Aya's most rare and beautiful one. He looked curiously at Aya's hands, at what he was doing. There, a bit worn on the edges from repeated reading, but otherwise still in perfect condition, was the letter Youji had given Aya after his talk with Ken, explaining everything he felt for the red-haired assassin and why he hadn't said anything about it. It was, in essence, his heart on paper. And in all the time since then, the feelings hadn't changed, except to grow stronger. 

A sparkle appeared in those brilliant violet eyes, and Aya whispered, "Suki yo." 

Youji moved to sit next to him. "Ore mo, Ran." Pulling the other closer, Youji wrapped his arms around Aya's waist and kissed him fiercely. It was several minutes before they broke apart, gasping slightly. Aya rested his head against Youji's shoulder, and sighed. 

"Has Ken come back yet?" 

Youji stiffened, remembering his purpose here, and Aya sensed it. "Iya. Not yet." 

"What's wrong?" 

Youji paused before answering, just long enough that he knew he couldn't talk himself out of it now. "Nothing." 

Aya pulled back from his resting place against Youji's chest, a delicate frown shaping his features. "That's not true. Tell me what's wrong." 

"A…" Youji looked into that honest gaze, and felt the fortress he had built with determination crumbling on the spot. Before he knew it, he was in tears. He didn't even notice until the face before him blurred and faded, and he threw his arms around Aya, crushing his lover to him with all his strength. At that moment, it was a good thing Aya wasn't female, because Youji probably would have killed him inadvertently. As it was, Aya returned the embrace just as tightly, murmuring to Youji, a sound close to humming. 

"What's wrong, Yotan? What's wrong?" 

"I couldn't do it, Aya. I can't!" He was sobbing, face buried in Aya's scarlet hair. 

"Do what, love?" 

"I can't kill you!" 

Of all the things Aya had been prepared for, that certainly wasn't one of them. "What?" 

In a jumble of words and gestures, the entire story came spilling out of Youji, from the moment he had answered the door, including his lies about Ken's whereabouts, including the intentions he had come with tonight, and including how he couldn't go through with it, over and over and over. 

Aya held Youji more tightly with every word, letting him speak without asking anything, and when the words finally jerked to a halt, there was silence. Youji sat up, studying Aya's face for a reaction, but the face was unreadable, lost in thought. He was about to rise and leave, sure that Aya was disgusted with him, and it would be better to leave on his own than be kicked out, when the soft voice stopped him. 

"Youji… do it." 

Youji spun and stared at him. "Nani?!" 

"Do it. Kill me, and save Ken." 

"What the fuck are you talking about? I told you I can't. I refuse to." Youji could hear his voice jumping by octaves, the shock of Aya's pronouncement had so shocked him. 

"But you can. You know you can. And to save Ken, it's the only thing to do." There was a strange fervency in his voice, as though he were taking a liking to the idea of being killed. "You said yourself that Schuldich will never let us get close enough to Ken to rescue him. What other choice do you have?" 

Very slowly Aya walked to Youji and cupped the thin face in his hands. "I told you I would die for you. It's true. I know if you don't get Ken back, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. Lovers are easy, Youji. You yourself are proof of that. Friends are much harder to come by." 

"But you're not just my lover, Aya. I'm in *love* with you! I've never loved anyone as much as I do you. And at the same time, you're my friend. I would regret your loss a hundred times more than any other." Youji couldn't believe how Aya's words stung, and he wondered if all that Aya felt for him was as casual as he made it sound. So he asked, "Do you think what we have is so usual and easily disposable?" 

The violet eyes were soft, full of gentleness so uncharacteristic of Aya. "Of course not, love. I told you how much I love you, how many people there are in this world I would die for. And don't think I would do it for Ken. Only you. It's what you want. Please just do it. I am a worthless life anyway. Mine would be much better used if it were given for his." 

"How can you say you're worthless? And how can you think that Ken would be able to go on living happily if you have you life for him? His guilt would overshadow every other thing. It's impossible that you give your life for his, because in doing so, you've ruined his life!" 

Aya didn't answer right away. He walked past Youji, toward the far end of the bedroom. Youji merely stood, looking listlessly at the bedside table, and the old love letter folded neatly there. When Aya appeared in his line of sight again, it was with something in hand that frightened Youji to the core. 

Silently, Aya held out the katana to him, regarding him softly. "You don't have to tell him, Youji." 

"I'm sure Schuldich already has." 

"Take it. Quickly." 

"No." 

"Please." 

Desperation was fast building in Youji. "Aya, how can you want this? How can you know how important you are for me and be willing to give up your life for someone else." 

"Someone else who is also important to you, I daresay more important and loyal than me." 

"That's not true." 

"Maybe not recently, but in the long run, Ken's been much more kind to you, offered so much more. He deserves this life. Take it." 

"Do it yourself, if you're so hot to." 

Aya took a step back. "Very well, if that's what you want." 

"No, Aya, I didn't mean…" 

The sheath clattered to the ground as Aya drew the katana, inspecting the blade quickly before turning it backwards in his hand. 

"You can't mean you're going to cut your own head off." 

"If that's what it takes." 

"Aya!! You can't!!" 

Aya's eyes were soft as he went to Youji and leaned up to kiss him, one last time. It was sweet, and Youji leaned after him when he pulled away. As his eyes opened, he saw Aya, katana poised to strike. The tears were falling again, slowly. 

"Aya. Please." 

"Ai shiteru, Youji. Itsumademo, ai shiteru." 

"Aya, no. No!" He continued to call even as the sword swung around in a great arc, passing through the soft tissue and sturdy bone of Aya's delicate neck, in one swipe that sliced completely through. For a moment, Youji thought he had missed somehow, for nothing happened. Then the body sagged forward, into Youji's arms, and as he reached out to catch his lover, the head detached with a sickening sound to lay alone on the ground, eyes opened and staring at the small bedside table, where his first and only love letter rested. The katana clattered to the floor, glittering red in the butter-colored light. 

"Aya!! AYA!!" Youji's screams reverberated through the house, glancing off walls and ceilings, spreading like the pool of blood where Youji sat. He picked up Aya's head, leaving the rest of the corpse bleeding on the floor, and cradled it like a baby, murmuring to it, begging Aya to wake up and speak to him again. 

"Aya, ai shiteru, why did you have to do this? Can't you see I love you? More than anything? We could have found a way, really. But you did this. Why? Why??" The low tirade continued, steadily gaining voice until Youji was screaming his rage and loss once more to the entire world, if they cared to listen.   
  


Omi was awakened by desperate screaming. It rang through the narrow hallway straight into his brain. He was out of bed and down the hall before he had really registered what was happening, grabbing the gun from his bedside table, always available in case of emergency. The voice ringing in his ears was growing more desperate. 

He bolted down the few meters to Aya's room, the source of the noise, and skidded to a halt before it, smashing the unlocked door in his haste to save whoever lay behind it. It was a macabre scene that greeted his eyes, and one he could scarcely believe he was seeing. 

"Iya! Iya, Aya! Koishii, okite!! Onegai!" The screams were growing in force as Omi stood and stared, clueless about what had happened and what he could do. "Doushite!!" Omi shuddered, tears rising to his eyes when he saw exactly what it was Youji was holding. 

"Youji-kun! What happened?" He walked around the weeping man and grabbed hold of his shoulders, fighting off his own sobs, steadfastly ignoring the corpse on the floor, and its detached head in Youji's arms. 

No matter how Omi shook his shuddering frame, however, Youji remained oblivious, talking to Aya, ignoring his surroundings, and the obvious state of Aya that prevented his responding to his lover's desperate queries. 

"Youji!! Wake up!!" Omi gave up on him for the moment, scanning the room for signs of the enemy who had done this, rage foremost in his mind. There was nothing. The window was closed and barred, any intruders from the hallway he would have heard or seen, and one more detail was bothering him. The sword that lay spattered with red on the floor, a few feet from Youji. 

"What… what happened here?" It was becoming painfully obvious, to his slightly irrational eyes. The blood. The sword. Youji. "Youji… how could you?" 

It was the first response he got from the other assassin, who's tear-streaked face rose, eyes wide. "You don't think… *I*…" 

"HOW COULD YOU??" Something in the small boy had snapped. Omi advanced on Youji with hatred in his eyes. "How could you do this to him?! He loved you!! He *loved* you!!" 

"Omi, I didn't. He did it himself!" 

Omi blinked. "Himself? What are you talking about? Are you mad?" 

"No!! I don't know how!!" Youji was on his feet, moving slowly toward Omi, Aya's head still cradled in his arms, leaking blood from the corner of its mouth. Omi took a step backwards, realizing the distance between himself and Youji was rapidly closing. He raised the gun threateningly." 

"Don't come any closer, Youji-kun." 

Youji's eyes were sorrowful. "Don't you believe me? No, why would you? I was planning to, you see, but I couldn't do it." 

"Nani?" Omi moved as Youji took one more step toward him, looking imploringly at his young companion. 

"We have to save Ken, Omi. Please, help me save Ken. Otherwise, it's all a waste." 

"Ken-kun?? What about him?" 

"They're going to…" Youji's eye flickered down behind Omi as the smaller took another backwards step. "NO!" With a lunge, Youji launched himself at Omi. 

It was an accident, really. Omi never meant to use the gun. When Youji started coming at him as though he would attack, Omi tried to distance himself, but found his feet in contact with something in the way, just high enough to trip over. 

"Aya!" The shout was drowned away by the sound of a single gunshot, echoing in the night. Omi heard the shot as he impacted with the floor, jarring his hands. 

"Omi…" The voice sounded strangely distant. 

Omi opened his eyes to find himself sprawled over Aya's body, smoking gun in hand. "Youji-kun?" His gaze focused on the dark shape before him. "YOUJI-KUN!!" 

Tired, hazed emerald eyes looked impassively up at him. "Omi… Why…" 

"Oh, God! Youji-kun, why did you kill Aya-kun?" 

Youji coughed roughly, spitting blood. The blood on his shirt spread steadily away from the point of entry, in the middle of his chest. "I didn't… kill him. You… you have to…" 

"Have to what?" Youji coughed again, gasping hard against the constricting in his lungs, and choked hard, retching blood. 

"Have to… save Ken." 

"Ken?" 

"He's… waiting." 

Omi didn't understand the broken words. Ken was fine. Ken was out with some girl. Youji's bleary eyes must have been a reflection of his muddled brain, Omi thought. ::Oh, God, I can't do this:: 

"Youji…" 

"He's waiting… waiting…" 

Omi gently touched his friend's face. "He's waiting for you, Youji-kun. Aya is." Tears streamed down his cheeks, spattering Youji's already soaked chest. 

"No… no…" 

It was terrible to watch the slow death of his friend, but trying to save him had never once crossed Omi's mind. It was impossible. He was gone already, having already left to join Aya in the other world when he took his life. 

Feeling lost and stained and terribly alone, Omi watched silently the two lovers side by side, feeling a ridiculous and somewhat disgusting urge to line Aya's head back up with his body. He looked like a broken doll that some irresponsible child had tossed about the floor. 

Finally, the sobs broke free, and the horror of the scene before him, the horror of what he had done, smashed into Omi, tearing his insides with a physical pain that he had always heard was impossible. 

"Naze!! NAZE!!" Omi grabbed at his hair, his head impacting hard with the butt of the pistol still clenched in his white-knuckled fist. He stopped when he felt it, eyes opening, revealing a shine of what looked like hope. The young assassin brought the gun down slowly before his eyes, regarding it calmly as though it held the most precious thing in the world, and he had to decide what to do with it. It was so obvious, now. The solution. Carefully, Omi turned the pistol back toward himself, looking the black hole of the barrel straight in the face with an air of welcome. 

His finger twisted oddly on the trigger, not being at a good angle to pull from, but it still depressed, working down to what Omi hoped would be a quick release. He smiled. An empty click sounded in the silent room. 

Omi blinked. 

Shuddering hard, he hurled the gun away from himself, to the wall opposite. "Out of bullets." His young alto voice was a strained whisper. He shook, thinking about what it was he had almost done. "Oh, God." 

Carefully ignoring the weapons on the floor, Omi stood, surveying the carnage around him. It was a shame, really, to leave them there, lying sprawled on the hard floor. They deserved better. Ken could help him dispose of them later, but for now, it needed more. Carefully, as though trying not to hurt him, Omi pulled Youji's deadweight up and supported it to the bed, where he laid him out in an orderly way, as though the man only slept. 

Aya was a bit more problematic, since he had died some time before Youji and rigormortis had set in, stiffening his lanky frame. Nonetheless, Omi managed to steer the body up beside Youji, and align the head with great care above it. They made a perfect picture, or almost. Pulling the soft, well-used blankets up around the pair, Omi looked at his work, satisfied. 

Curling up among the bloodstained ruins of the cheerfully lit room with a sense of something well done, the child slept warmed by the blood of his comrades.   
  


Omi was awakened by the piercing shriek of the telephone. Blinking to clear his eyes, he pushed himself up, but paused, finding himself stuck to the floor. 

"What the…" 

Memory rushed in, causing a violent upheaval of his stomach. The persistent ringing of the phone in the background was enough to give him a splitting headache to go with the illness. He ignored the annoying appliance for as long as possible, but whoever was on the other end was persistent. 

Pulling himself from the maroon crust that held him to the wood of the floor with some difficulty and more than a little lost skin, he crawled painfully to the nightstand where the phone sat, reaching up to grasp around blindly until his hand finally struck the receiver, knocking it loose. Omi took it up and curled up with his back to the carnage of the room. 

"Ah… moshi moshi?" 

"Good morning, Weiss." 

Omi's senses were immediately alerted, sick or not. "Who are you?" 

"Didn't you get my little love letter? Nevermind, I know you did." 

"What… what are you talking about?" He had a sinking, terrible feeling in his chest that he could guess what the voice was referring to. 

"Oh, that's right. Balinese didn't choose to share the information. Anyway, the terms weren't met. The ransom wasn't delivered, and Siberian dies." 

"NANI?!" 

"Those were the terms. It's too late now. I'm going to have a lot of fun killing little Hidaka. If Farfarello doesn't beat me to it." 

"Schu… Schuldich?" It came out as no more than a whisper, almost lost in the electric crackle of what was almost surely a protected line. 

"Dead on, kiddo. My note's in the garbage out back, if you want to know where you fucked up. In the meantime, I have a corpse to dispose of. Of course, I have to make sure it's a corpse first." 

"Wait!! I…!!" 

A click and a beep signaled that the conversation was over and the other participant had closed the connection. Omi stared at the phone for a moment, then as if spurred, jumped to his feet and raced from the room, taking the steps two at a time. 

::Maybe there's still time:: He ignored the part of his mind that was chanting, 'not a chance in Hell'. He wasn't going to give up that easily. 

The dumpster was still full, the pickup men having not yet done their rounds. With a second's hesitation, he dove in, throwing round plastic bags everywhere in his search. He had a pretty good idea of what Schuldich would send for a 'message'. 

He found it at the bottom, an oddly shaped bag that was just a little long to be loose trash. Youji had filled it with dirt, which spread around his hands as he tore at the black plastic. Buried within was a child in a red and white uniform, a piece of once-white paper laying in a small crumpled pile on top of it. 

Carefully ignoring the mutilated face of the boy, Omi opened the small note, holding it taut so the rip halfway down the center lined itself up as before. His eyes scanned quickly, reading the words, Schuldich's sentence of death on one of the members of Weiss, leaving the choice of which up to them. 

All the pieces fell together, and the entire disgusting puzzle with all its twists and curves revealed itself, just as something valuable in Omi, which had bent last night under the weight of events which a normal person his age had no conception of, finally gave in and was irreparably shattered by grief.   
  


"Pretty boy, pretty boy. Don't be scared. Soon, you will welcome death. Pretty boy." The diseased mantra continued softly, punctuated by terrified screams and gasping breath. Farfarello laughed and licked his knife, looking at Schuldich with a smirk before relinquishing control to the taller man. 

The redheaded German didn't move, merely spoke. Softly, sweetly, he tortured Ken with his words. "They abandoned you, boy. They didn't think you were worth the trouble. How do you feel about that?" 

"It's… it's a lie. You did something to them." Ken's voice shook violently, a reflection of pain in every word, but his eyes held steady to Schuldich's, challenging. His hands were no longer tied behind him. They dangled from the ceiling on two red-stained strings, and his arms were capped by bloodied stumps accentuated with flashes of white bone. As bad as it got, however, he still refused to believe that his partners, his friends, had abandoned him. 

"I did nothing. It was their own decisions that led to this. I merely gave them a choice between two things. They chose a third path, one that is ultimately more satisfying to me, though I had never considered it before." Jade eyes narrowed in the dim light. "It's amazing how people make themselves suffer. Most of the time, they're better than me." 

"You're a monster." 

Schuldich's lips curved in a smirk so malicious that the power of it made Ken shake. "No, my dear Siberian. I am a parasite, nothing more. I can do no more than what you yourself are capable of. I can take your fears, and play upon them. This is my power. And you've all fallen prey to my jaws. Would you like to see how they ended up? 

Flashing before Ken's eyes, pictures of his friends spun as if someone had put them in fast-forward. Despite that, however, he heard every word and saw every gesture. A choked scream of denial rose in his throat, one that he couldn't contain. "Iie!! It's not true!! Liar!!" 

"It's true, boy. Every unbelievable part of it." 

Ken screamed. He knew it was true. Somehow, he knew. Throwing back his head, he opened his mouth in an anguished wail, wanting to die so badly that it overrode even his desire for revenge. His cry was cut off by a hand that shoved itself into his mouth, grabbing hold of the organ of his tongue, long since dried by dehydration. 

Farfarello's eye gleamed at him with a light that could only be called unholy. "I don't think you'll be needing this anymore." In a long, smooth sawing motion, he sliced through Ken's tongue, leaving Ken to gulp down the vital fluid that escaped its stump in an animalistic, instinctive effort to keep from dying. His human brain was begging for that death. 

He couldn't remember how long they had had him here. Days maybe. Maybe years. It seemed like so long since he had known the comfort of his friends' presence. Youji's words rang in his head. 'Good things should happen to people like you.' Apparently, the universe hadn't been listening. 

He didn't bother to fight anymore. All he could do was scream as Farfarello systematically chopped him to pieces. The mad Irishman was nothing if not thorough in his work, taking every appendage Ken had a piece at a time. He vomited blood as his manhood was sliced down the middle and then removed a centimeter at a time. Farfarello burned the larger wounds, sealing them to keep him from dying of blood loss, but it eventually caught up. When his jaw came off in a swift popping motion, Ken slumped backwards, falling into a pile of carrion against the stone wall. 

"I think he'ds gone and died on us, Schuldich." 

The tall German laughed. "That's his prerogative, Farf." 

They threw him in the Tokyo Bay the next morning, where a school of tiny fish surfaced to feed on the smaller pieces. What they missed sank to the sea floor, where other more capable denizens of the deep could consume what the remnants of Hidaka Ken in their watery fortresses.   


Schuldich breathed deeply, taking in the strangely stale yet fresh scent of the hospital. It was a hospital smell, and this was most definitely a hospital. The long, white halls and bright white illumination gave it away more easily than the uniformed nurses and stretchers bustling about busily. Schuldich didn't stop to ask directions. The patient he was here to see was easily found among so many minds. 

He moved among them without question, a skill that was quite useful in practical situations such as this, and walked with full purpose to another wing of the hospital. Here, there were no more bustling nurses or wheelchairs. Here, the rooms were spaced far apart and had only small, high windows. Here, the light was dimmed and shades drawn. 

Carefully inserting a well-bent paperclip into the lock of a certain door, he flicked his wrist. The door swung open with a thick sweeping sound, sliding over the carpet of the room beyond. The small cell's only occupant stared blankly at the ceiling, completely ignoring all human presence. 

::Hello, liebe:: He spoke into the boy's mind, sending the image of his smirking self through to the other. The body jerked against its restraints, heart monitor jumping. The glazed eyes turned and focused on him, glaring death. 

"You." 

"Yes. Me." 

"It was you. All of it." Hatred seethed behind those glassy blue eyes. 

"No, baby. It wasn't me." 

"I hate you." 

"I know." 

Omi slumped back onto the starched white sheets, allowing himself to laugh. "I'm going to kill you, you know!" he crowed, pointing the finger of one bound hand at his unauthorized visitor. 

Schuldich grinned at him, all the friendliness in the world in that smile. "No you aren't, darling. You're crazy." 

"Crazy?? Am I?" The giggling increased until the small body was convulsing on the bed. 

"Yes," Schuldich grinned. "Does it make you happy?" 

"Why did you do it?"   
The seriousness and sanity in the tone startled the tall German. He blinked at Omi. "Why not?" 

Omi contemplated the ceiling for a moment before answering. "You know, Schwarz, someday someone is going to do to you what you've been doing for so long." 

Schuldich grinned. "No, liebe. I don't think so. Nothing can touch me. You see, I'm made of stone." 

Omi's demented laughing at that comment accompanied Schuldich back down the hall, and rang in his head as he emerged from the sterilized white stench of the hospital into the sun of the spring morning. He raised his face to the sky, and smiled. It was good to be alive. 

--OWARI-- 

Please comment! (If you haven't already, naturally.) Flames will be laughed at and used to keep me warm, as I can't get the heat to work. 


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